cenes in my head, as I had done on the preceding night. The chief thing
requisite at present was the mere mechanical act of committing them to
paper. This I did not find at first so easy as I could wish--I wanted
mechanical skill; but I persevered, and before evening I had written ten
pages. I partook of some bread and water; and, before I went to bed that
night, I had completed fifteen pages of my life of Joseph Sell.

The next day I resumed my task--I found my power of writing considerably
increased; my pen hurried rapidly over the paper--my brain was in a
wonderfully teeming state; many scenes and visions which I had not
thought of before were evolved, and, as fast as evolved, written down;
they seemed to be more pat to my purpose, and more natural to my history,
than many others which I had imagined before, and which I made now give
place to these newer creations: by about midnight I had added thirty
fresh pages to my _Life and Adventures of Joseph Sell_.

The third day arose--it was dark and dreary out of doors, and I passed it
drearily enough within; my brain appeared to have lost much of its former
glow, and my pen much of its power; I, however, toiled on, but at
midnight had only added seven pages to my history of Joseph Sell.

On the fourth day the sun shone brightly--I arose, and, having
breakfasted as usual, I fell to work. My brain was this day wonderfully
prolific, and my pen never before or since glided so rapidly over the
paper; towards night I began to feel strangely about the back part of my
head, and my whole system was extraordinarily affected. I likewise
occasionally saw double--a tempter now seemed to be at work within me.

"You had better leave off now for a short space," said the tempter, "and
go out and drink a pint of beer; you have still one shilling left--if you
go on at this rate, you will go mad--go out and spend sixpence, you can
afford it, more than half your work is done." I was about to obey the
suggestion of the tempter, when the idea struck me that, if I did not
complete the work whilst the fit was on me, I should never complete it;
so I held on. I am almost afraid to state how many pages I wrote that
day of the life of Joseph Sell.

From this time I proceeded in a somewhat more leisurely manner; but, as I
drew nearer and nearer to the completion of my task, dreadful fears and
despondencies came over me. It will be too late, thought I; by the time
I have finished the work, t